


An Unlocked Gate

by katybaggins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly Hooper Appreciation, POV Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katybaggins/pseuds/katybaggins
Summary: Molly can't sleep and receives a very unexpected visitor. Companion to "Crossroads."





	

**Author's Note:**

> In my other story, Molly is able to forgive Sherlock and let him in very fast. It almost made me wonder how it was possible for her to do that. So I decide to ask Molly herself and she told me. I hope you enjoy the result.

Midnight came and went a long time ago, yet Molly still couldn't sleep. Rationally, she knew that she should be able to: she had a long day at work and she's exhausted. But every time she shut her eyes, she remembered the child that died in a car accident - and she'd had to do the autopsy this afternoon. Generally, she could do her job with a minimum amount of emotional impact, but children are always the exception. Every single time she saw a dead child, their life ended far too early, she wants to cry. When she finally came home, that's exactly what she did. 

She curled up on her couch with Toby and sobbed until she ran out of tears. She didn't feel much better afterward, so she decided to make herself a cup of tea.  _Molly, tea will heal a multitude of woes,_ her dad always said.  _There is no situation where tea won't help._

So she started to make her cup of tea, and that's when her phone rang. She managed to ignore it the first time and that's when most people usually give up. The fact that it rang _again_ caught her attention. She'd looked at her phone only to find that it was Sherlock. Sherlock  _never_ calls when he can text. Never. In fact, he's even told her so in the past - that if he ever calls her, it's because it's too important to be communicated in a text, so please be sure to answer. It shocked her that he'd say please and she said she would. 

So she answered, if only because it was their agreement.

_Sherlock....._

She turned over on her side, and pulled the covers closer to her chin. She tried to block out the memory of their conversation, but she couldn't. Every time she thought she was able to put it out of her mind, his words came back to her:

_Please say these words....I love you._

_Molly, no, please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!_

_Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me._

_No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend._

_Please, just say those words for me._

_It's very important....I can't say why. But I promise you it is._

_Please, just say it._

_I love you._

_I_ love _you...._

_Molly? Molly, please...._

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. It would be easy to dismiss the whole conversation as another one of his horrible twisted games, but she couldn't. She couldn't because Sherlock didn't sound like himself. He didn't sound suave like he usually does when he's trying to manipulate her. Oh, he tried to, especially when he was talking about experiments and cases, but even then....she didn't know. Even then there was this strong undercurrent of sheer desperation. 

_Molly, no, please, no!_

She'd never heard him sound so anxious and panicked. Never. Sherlock Holmes was always in control of everything, including his emotions. But...but he didn't _sound_ like he was. He'd asked - no, he'd _begged -_ her to say I _love you_ as if it mattered to him far more than anything else ever had. The whole conversation was so strange. And then...and then he'd said _I love you_ to her. At her request, but still. He'd said it - and not once, but twice. The first was fake, she knew that easily. But the second....the second time almost sounded like he meant it, like the words were true but he'd never realized it until then. It had almost sounded _real._

And that's why she couldn't sleep. Because what if he _did_ mean it? What would happen then? Nothing would ever be the same again. _I, love,_ and _you_ , she thought now. Three simple words, but put together they have the power to change everything. They already had. If nothing else, Sherlock knew for certain that she loved him and she could never go back in time and change that. She remembered how much her dad loved metaphors. He'd put them all over the house, but one of his favorites had been about love. "Telling someone you love them, Molly," he'd said, "is like unlocking a gate. You give them the key, and they have the choice of whether to follow you or not. But you can never go back to before you said it. You can't take that key back once you've given it." 

She sighed before she dragged herself out of bed. Her movement disturbed Toby, who had been sleeping at her feet. "Sorry," she whispered as she slipped on her dressing gown and slippers. "I just can't lay here anymore. I can't." 

Toby yowled in displeasure, but just like he usually did, he curled up again and slept. She left her room and aimlessly walked around her living room. She didn't even know what to do with herself. She could read, or she could watch telly. 

But she didn't want to do either one. What she wanted more than anything in the world was to talk to her dad about Sherlock, and she couldn't because he was gone.  The thought caused tears to well up in her eyes. The faintest sound of a footstep caught her attention, and she felt more than knew that someone is at her door. She walked over to it and pulled it open.

Sherlock stood there in front of her, and she knew immediately that he had been, in fact, on a case. But this one was different, she could tell from the look in his eyes. Usually, he's excited, high on an adrenaline rush, because he's solved a crime. But now....now his shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes looked at her, and she saw relief there, but also a deep pain and sadness that only comes from passing through fire. Beyond a doubt, she knew that he's hurting. "Sherlock? What-...."

Before she could even finish her sentence, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her shoulder. Almost immediately, she felt the burden that he's carrying. "Sherlock, what is it?" she said. "What's the matter?"

"I have a sister," he said, his voice almost muffled by her dressing gown. 

For a minute, she wanted to put her finger in her ear just to make sure they weren't clogged. She _thought_ he'd said something about having a sister, but surely she must have heard wrong. Maybe he said "I have a twister," or "I have a blister." But she knew neither of those couldn't possibly be what he said because a) they didn't make any sense and b) having a twister or a blister would _never_ cause so much pain in Sherlock's eyes. "You have a what?" she said as she drew away from him. 

"I have a sister," he said again, and she realized that she had heard him correctly the first time. "She's mentally ill." 

She slowly blinked at him.  _Well, finding out that you have a psychotic secret sibling would definitely devastate you,_ she thought. No wonder Sherlock's whole face and eyes held so much sorrow. He probably felt like someone had cut into his chest and ripped open his heart with a scalpel. It was one thing to learn that you had a sister that you didn't remember; it was completely to find out that they were also mentally ill. Her own heart ached for him. "Sherlock, why don't you come in and tell me about it?"

She didn't have to ask him twice. He hung up his coat on the peg that was "his," and then he followed her into the living room. They barely sat down before he started to talk, pouring out the most horribly sad story she'd ever heard in her life. She knew without a doubt that he was telling the truth, because why would he ever make something like this up? 

His younger sister was named Euros, he told her. She was one year younger than him, but she was even smarter than him or Mycroft. Her intelligence manifested in a very different way. She set her mind on destruction - she killed his childhood best friend, Victor Trevor. She burned down their family home, and afterward she went to live in a secure facility called Sherrinford. He didn't remember anything about her until Euros had come to London to drug John and blow up Baker Street. Then, once he, John, and Mycroft traveled to Sherrinford, she'd put them through a series of terrible tests: first, who would kill the guardsman so his wife would live (The man committed suicide, and Euros killed the wife); second, who out of three men was guilty of a crime (she'd killed all three). He paused before he told her about the next one and she wondered if this was when he'd called her. 

It was. He'd been confronted with a coffin with "I love you" written on the lid and she would be killed if he wasn't able to force her to say it. Suddenly his desperation on the phone made sense. But she still wondered that the threat of her death would hurt Sherlock so much that Euros used her in her tests. 

But she didn't say anything, even when he mentioned that the whole scenario was a hoax. She let him tell her about the last test - where he was supposed to choose between killing Mycroft or John. He wouldn't. He would have shot himself, but Euros shot them all with tranquilizer darts instead. He said the next bit about finding Euros later at their childhood home and her eventual capture far more quickly than anything else. Lastly, he mentioned that Euros had met Moriarty at one point and in five minutes they'd devised the whole plan. 

Once he finished, she didn't know what to say. A simple "I'm sorry" or "that's horrible" didn't go nearly far enough to soothe his suffering. Nothing she said ever would, so she remained silent. 

"Molly," he said finally. "Did you-..." 

 _Tea_ , she thought, _and food_. When in doubt, _always_ feed people. Knowing Sherlock as she did, he probably hadn't eaten in days. Perhaps the sustenance would help. "When's the last time you ate, Sherlock?" she asked him. "I think you need a good cup of tea and biscuits. Maybe a sandwich?"

He blinked at her and frowned, clearly stunned by her reaction. She could tell that he hadn't predicted that she would offer tea after he'd finished. Did he expect her to crumple to pieces? "Molly, did you hear what I just told you?"

"Of course I did," she assured him. "I heard all about what Euros did to you, John, and Mycroft. But these sorts of things are always better to talk about with tea." She managed to give him a small smile. "At least, that's what my dad always said. So what kind do you want?" 

"What kind of what?" he said, clearly still shocked by the offer.

"What kind of sandwich and tea do you want?" 

"I don't know," he said dully. "Whatever you make is fine."

"Okay, I'll be right back then," she said. She walked into her kitchen and first she put the kettle on because hot tea was the most important. Then she walked over to her fridge and pulled out all the ingredients for the sandwiches. Her own stomach rumbled and she decided to make two - one for her and one for Sherlock. She didn't know why exactly, but she began to hum. Maybe it was because she wanted so desperately to curl up on the floor and sob for him, but she had to be strong. He...he _needed_ her right now, and even if he didn't know it, she did. No one should ever have to walk this kind of path alone. 

She'd almost finished the sandwiches when she felt a pair of arms slip around her waist.  _Sherlock._ "I love you," he whispered. His proximity and the sound of his deep voice close to her ear sent shivers down her spine. Immediately her hands stopped working and she let out a strangled sound that she wished she hadn't. She shut her eyes, trying to compose herself, though it was so difficult when his I _love you_ felt so true. But what did he have to gain in saying it now? Why was he doing this to her? "Euros isn't here," she said, pleased that her voice sounded steady. "You don't have to say it." 

 "Molly, please," he said in a tone that she only remember hearing once before: earlier that day after he'd said _I love you_.  _Molly? Molly, please.... "_ Look at me." 

He asked her politely, but she still couldn't escape the flicker of fear that rose up in her at facing him. She couldn't decide which scenario frightens her more - learning that he didn't mean any of it or learning that he _did._   _Be brave, Molly._ She could hear her dad as clearly as if he was standing next to her. _Don't forget that love can be most frightening when it's_ real. Tears came to her eyes, yet she still forced herself to face him. She met his eyes and she's promptly shocked by the amount of affection she saw there.

"I am sorry you had to hear it first like that," he said, almost with a grimace. "Terrible circumstances, I admit. Hardly ideal for a declaration, I concede. But you also have to know that it's true and I did mean it. I _do_ mean it. I love you."

She desperately wanted to look away from him - to look at _anything_ instead. But his eyes begged her not to, and so she didn't. Instead she searched his face for any sign of insincerity. 

She found none at all. Instead, she saw a naked vulnerability that she's only seen once before when he asked her to help him fake his death. But there's even more than that now. There's affection, there's tenderness, there's truth, but most of all there is deep love for her. 

For the first time, her heart realized that he truly meant it. He _loved_ her. After all those years of waiting and hoping, he really loved her. "And I love you," she whispered. He hadn't asked her for the words, not this time, but she gave them anyway. 

Once again, he pulled her into his arms and his cheek rested on her hair. She wanted to control her tears, but she couldn't. They began to slip down her cheeks and she was sure she was making a mess of his shirt. As she cried, she's continued to be held by Sherlock Holmes - no, she realized, that's not quite right. She's held by the man who _loved_ her. 

Now that they've both said _I love you_ , nothing would be the same again. But suddenly she wasn't afraid anymore. After years of loneliness and isolation, neither of them will be alone ever again. They would always have each other.   _I did it, Dad,_ she thought.  _I unlocked the gate and gave him the key. He walked right through to me._

Somewhere, she knew her dad was smiling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen fics where Molly is angry at Sherlock for weeks and won't talk to him. But that never rang true for me personally. Molly is the one who can see Sherlock - she's the one who can always see him. In my opinion, he didn't do a particularly good job of hiding his anxiety and so there's no way that Molly could miss it. She had to know something was going on, and I feel like she also could tell that he might have meant the second one just by hearing the change in his voice. 
> 
> And that's why she reacts the way she does.


End file.
